Concealed
by angw
Summary: God, how long had he been here? Hours…days? He couldn’t tell anymore.


A/N - thanks to Marie, Briana and Tazmy who have looked at this at varying stages. I may have tweaked it a little more so all those errors are mine.

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But what is all this fear of and opposition to Oblivion?

What is the matter with the soft darkness, the Dreamless Sleep?

_James Thurber _

Rodney extended his arm and trailed his fingers on the wall; meeting a sharp corner he turned to his right. He walked slowly, his fingertips continuing their familiar journey.

It was dark. No shadows, just a pitch-black can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face darkness.

God, how long had he been here? Hours…days? He couldn't tell anymore. All he had left was the ability to smell, hear, touch and...think. That was all that remained. It wasn't enough anymore. His fingers met another corner. He turned right again.

For once he didn't have all the answers. He didn't have all the questions either. How was he supposed to get out of here when he didn't even know the what, where, who or why? The _who_ he could take a wild stab at. They had enough enemies in the Pegasus galaxy, but when it came down to the _why,_ he was stumped. Why keep one of the most brilliant scientists in two galaxies in the dark? He mechanically snorted at the joke. It was only his sixty-third variation of the 'in the dark' joke. His fingers caressed the join in the wall and his face lost the slight smile that had tugged at the corners of his mouth. He turned right again and walked slower, trailing his fingers following the joins in the wall.

He stifled a sob and shivered at the dampness that oozed from the walls. He was going to drive himself insane before they rescued him. _Right… right. No time to think of death. Think about how you got into this mess._

The last thing he recalled was coming to Px1575. The MALP had indicated an energy signature and now-a-days they were keen to look at anything. They needed all the power they could get and the planet had seemed innocuous. At first. For a world that was supposedly devoid of life signs the plants certainly made up for it. Somehow they didn't register on the LSD. He was going to have to run some diagnostics on them if he got back. No..no w_hen_ he got back.

The plant life brought new meaning to the term aggressive. He shuddered at the thought of the ones that had looked like Venus fly traps, only twenty times larger than earths and the spikes on their – he supposed – lips were very pointy. They'd made him nervous and he had hoped they were not carnivores. Well he didn't have to speculate about that when vines had burst from the ground and snaked across the ground at such a tremendous speed that Ronon hadn't even had time to fire at them. While Teyla and Sheppard had fixed their P90's on ground where the vines had erupted Rodney had stared at the plant whose lips had started to open. He'd seen the spikes weren't only on the lips; the mouth was full of them. He'd fired at the mouth, which was only a couple of meters from Ronon, and screamed for them to shoot faster. Once the vines lay severed and oozing on the ground they'd high-tailed it back to the gate. The whole thing had taken thirty seconds.

He didn't recall fainting…passing out. One minute they'd been running to avoid any other deadly plants, the next…he was here. Where ever that was. In fact he didn't recall anything past the initial demanding shouts from Sheppard for them to get back to the gate and the quick scramble through the Little Shop of Horrors forest. (Even on the run Sheppard couldn't refrain from making fun of the situation.) His arms were a testament to the mad dash. Welts and scrapes were tattooed up and down them. He'd probably have some good bruises too. He was sure he'd strained his back. And the cold wasn't helping it.

Rodney stretched his neck. His stroll down memory lane still hadn't brought him any closer to the reason for his current predicament. Knowing his luck he'd done an Alice and fallen down a hole. Funny he didn't see a white rabbit anywhere. Now that was just insane. He realized the cold must be affecting his brain. He sighed. He remembered what the cold could do especially with his most recent brush in the sinking puddle jumper. Funny there was no pink clad Colonel Carter here. Mind you while he wouldn't have been able to see her he would have liked to have a little conversation with someone even if it were only a hallucination. He'd spent plenty of time and energy talking to the darkness. Coaxing it, pleading with it. The dank, dark void left little to the imagination.

He didn't feel hungry or thirsty. He knew he should be concerned but he was too tired to care. He couldn't even use his watch since it was no longer working. He'd found that out rather quickly and he was sure one of his left fingers was going to be horribly scarred. He'd picked out the plastic shards the moment he'd realized the face was shattered. He had no other devices or tools with him. He'd somehow lost his vest and his pockets were empty. He had nothing and no one to comfort him. Well except for himself and he knew how charmingly positive his pep talks could be. He shuddered in the inky void and rubbed his bare arms. _Damn, forgot about the hideously sliced finger._ He sucked the offending finger and spit out the foul taste from his mouth. _Not doing that again._

With nothing left to do he walked and let his intact fingers and mind be occupied by the wall. All he had now was time. Time to think. It was something he could do without. He walked in the dark, he dozed in the dark and now he thought in the dark. This wasn't a moonless night where the shadows were obscured. No, this darkness enveloped him.

He stopped and rested his hand on the wall, the bumps and ridges pressed into the palm of his hand. Could the darkness take on a life of its own? Could it embrace you and make you just as unyielding and oppressive? He didn't think he was this depressed when the jumper had lost most of his power and he'd only had twenty minutes left. Maybe because he'd something to do.

Dropping his hand from the wall, he let his fingers touched the stiff fabric on his pant legs. _Someone get me out of here!_

He brushed his hand through his hair and returned it to the familiarity of the wall and continued walking. Numbers. He had a few of those. But they were constant, unchanging, and repetitive. Three hundred and twenty-seven stones, four walls…and no door.

Five paces in any direction met with resistance. A solid resistance with jagged edges. The floor was just as unforgiving. Hard, flat and cold. Unyielding. He stopped pacing and sank to the floor. His fingers brushed against the dank dirt. The wall bit into his back. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them.

There was no light here. And no hope.

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Resigned, he lay on his side with his knees curled and buried his hands into his armpits. The cut on his finger and scraps on his arms stung as they rubbed on the fabric. _Why did he wear a short sleeved shirt today?_ In the enclosed space his boot tips rested on a wall, his back against another wall. Frigid air settled around him and the cold seeped though his summer clothing, slowly touching his skin before settling, achingly so into his bones.

He was so weary. Weary of the cold, the dark and the silence. He shivered violently and finally closed his eyes. It made no difference whether they were open or closed, although if they were closed he could dream. Of rescue, and of the light.

He lay there, listening to the silence. It was too quiet. He never thought he would miss the sound of his own voice, but he'd talked it away with all that fruitless coaxing and pleading. He need to occupy himself and settled with counting the rhythmic sounds of his soft breath as he unconsciously tapped his right boot on the wall. The symphonies in his head were drowned out by the silence. He wanted to hear an unexpected noise, anything to break the deafening quiet.

_What the hell was taking Sheppard so long? He'd better not have been eaten by Audrey's cousin._

As if commanded, a short thud sounded from above. _What misfortune was to befall him now? Had Audrey's cousin found him?_ Sharp stones and soft debris rained down on him stinging his face. _Great, another gaping wound._ He shielded his face with his hand and groaned. His own personal hell hole was falling down on him.

There was another thud. He jerked his head up from the ground and held his breath, waiting for the sound to continue. When a minute passed he thought he'd imagined it. He lay his head back down, amongst the cold earth.

Thud…thud...thud…

He heaved himself to a sitting position and moved on all fours until his back was in one of the corners. He blinked his eyes and stared up.

Soon the thud was accompanied by a scraping. Then the two noises alternated and began to grow. The scraping sounded eerie, like a scary movie. Only this was real life, filled with constant death threats, vampires and flesh eating plants. He wasn't too sure if he wanted to face what was coming. However much he hoped for it he had to be realistic it was more than likely the plants putting down roots. He put his head in his hands, he was doomed.

A tiny sliver of light pierced the top right edge of his vision. He turned towards the source and squinted as the light grew bigger.

Suddenly he was blinded. It was overwhelming. The darkness was gone, the silence was gone and he feared he was next. This was it. He was about to die.

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It didn't make any sense. His eyes wouldn't open. It was as if they'd been glued together. They refused to budge but he didn't think he was in the dark anymore. It didn't feel the same. He was sure he was lying on a cushioned surface. Rodney inhaled. He couldn't smell damp, musky air. It was warmer here. In fact it was very, very hot. He tried to move but his limbs but they were like dead weights and even the wasted effort drained him.

He couldn't think. He was too tired.

At first he thought he was listening to the adults from the Peanuts cartoon. "Muwamuwamuwawa muwa." Then, slowly, he was able to distinguish words. "…poison…dead …" then the words faded out. He lay there silently and his addled mind drifted. Fears and insecurities edged out logic and reason.

He knew it! He'd died and this was hell. The heat should have clued him into that. The galaxies were to be deprived of his intellect. He would never win a Nobel Prize. Well at least in hell he could really call the others his minions. His minions in hell. Maybe he could send postcards.

Hi,

No complaints other than BEING DEAD! The weather's hotter than hell, actually it is hell. Seen a few familiar faces.

Will come back and haunt you soon. Well, sooner for some.

- R

What the hell was he thinking? He was delirious. It was this heat. He'd gone from one extreme to the other. From the cold to this oppressive heat. Maybe he wasn't in hell maybe he was still _there_. In the dark. He involuntarily shivered. He was succumbing to the elements and was now hallucinating. They hadn't come for him. He was going to die. His brain was going to go to waste. He was so tired. Hopefully Carter was going to appear any minute and he wouldn't be alone.

Something grabbed onto him and he flinched. "McKay, open your eyes. Carson wants to know your brain hasn't melted."

Ronon!?! He was hallucinating Ronon? It was supposed to be Carter. It wasn't fair.

"Ronon, do not say such things?"

Oh, he wasn't in hell. Rodney shivered again and his mind grasped onto the idea that maybe he wasn't there. Not unless the others were there too. He hoped he was in the infirmary and Carson was giving him the good stuff. But what was with the air conditioning in the infirmary?

There was some quiet murmuring before another voice spoke. "Carson thinks you're awake. So, I suppose you want to know what's happened." There was a sound and he guessed Sheppard was sitting down. "When we were running away from the lovely flora and fauna you fell down a shaft. We couldn't get to you without more fire power so we left and returned with a jumper and a few more teams. You picked a great place to hide. While the chamber kept you safe from the vines, they couldn't penetrate the walls; it was covered with this mold." There was a pause. "The spores from this mold has gotten into your system and messed it up."

"Doc says you need to fight it. Didn't figure you for a quitter."

"What Ronon means to say is that Carson is doing all he can for you but the only person who can do this is you."

Someone was gripping his hand and squeezing it hard.

"I'm sorry that we left you but, if you don't hurry up Zelenka is going to take it as a sign that you don't want your job anymore."

No one spoke and the silence reminded him of there. The pressure on his hand was released and he heard a chair being scraped across the floor. A curtain rustled and he knew they were leaving him. He didn't want to be alone. He forced his eyes to open and blinked at the bright light.

He turned his head and focused on Carson who was fiddling with his IV. Carson looked up and called out, "Colonel."

The curtain around the bed was thrown open and his team stared at him with relieved faces.

"Hey sunshine." Sheppard beamed at him.

Rodney smiled back and knew everything would be alright.

He wasn't alone.


End file.
